Call it the Boho Expressway. The lure of $20 calls young bohos from all over the Northeast Corridor to the City of New York. It’s not as bookish as Boston, or as political as Washington. Its pizza is good, and its streets are numbered.

It’s a quick thrill, a weekend in New York City.

And while you’re in New York’s trains, taxis, and automobiles, you’ll get to hear conversations like these:

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Girl, he still talking about your poofy haiuh? Like three years latuh? Oh, that’s fucked up.